Somewhere Between the Lies and Watermelon Seeds
by Jaganshi-Kyou
Summary: Eventual HitsuHina “…Wwill you be there…?” He questioned the darkness its answer was received in the solace of silence. “If I were to come… no,seek would you, …comfort me? Could you save me…?”
1. Prologue

Somewhere Between the Lies and Watermelon Seeds…

_Prologue_

Seeing you believing  
Us adhering  
We're the power struck.

Believing, then keeling,  
Appeasing,  
The power struggle.

We're left with no arms,  
Right in the power struggle,  
We're left with no arms,  
Right in the power struggle.  
Left with no arms,  
In the power struggle,  
Left with no arms,  
In the power struggle.

_System of A Down - Bubbles_

_I knew her before I knew what it meant to **know**--before time was tangible and our innocence began to hamper our growth. When I knew her--truly knew her--we were ignorant to the cruelty and capriciousness of fate--living each day as if it were our first and last--contently oblivious to sordid workings of the world. We were pure when I knew her, unmarked and far from jaded to (…and by) the ways of the world._

_Life was simple then--pleasant shades of gray--where cold nights were followed by warm days, and the rainbow always shone when it rained. I think it was the only time; I've ever truly been content. _

_I was awkward then, though some would say I've always been--my brain, too big for age, and my heart, too cold for my soul--but to her, it didn't matter in the least; I was a playmate and a confident. I was the keeper of her dreams (…and self-proclaimed guardian of her heart). She didn't mind--and/or didn't notice--the sarcastic drawl of my voice, the caustic bite of my words, or the cold, condescending air I breathe with ease. She was the only one to break through my defenses without ever declaring war._

_Before I could even comprehend in depth the meaning of loyalty and commitment, I was hers. I loved her in abstract thoughts and inarticulate phrases I couldn't put to words, but that was okay, because we were on a completely different wave-length all together--we got each other without even trying--as if we were something out of a symposium by Plato; even if our bodies were split …we still shared a soul. _

_…But then, that was when I knew her--_

"Hinamori…" _Her_ name rolled off his tongue with deceptive ease, crossing the divide as if miles weren't between them. He stood, stoically in front of her, but the hurricane in his blue-gray eyes raged with a ferocity he could barely wane--the ebb and flow of emotions almost too much for the young man to bear.

He knew they cut quite the picturesque scene, standing the way they were--his arms akimbo, hair restlessly blowing in the wind in a way that almost made him look heroic, if not for the sneering smile engraved in his face; and she, with enchanting eyes dancing with mad mirth, and lips grinning like the Cheshire cat. For a moment, he wondered if he should call her 'Alice'. Her aura spoke in volumes of demented innocence; but he was quick to shake such idle thoughts from him.

He _had_ to stay focused.

Her lips were broken, bleeding, and his eyes surreptitiously traced the lines as if they'd led him to her _Telltale Heart. _He let his eyes fall into the dip of her dimples and around the lines of her face tracing, no …memorizing each and every curve and contour as if he could devour her, but his desperation fled as he noticed something in her eyes. The beautiful dancing, light he saw shining--mesmerizing--was actually nothing more than twitching. She was terrified, he realized, visibly agitated and hyper-sensitized; she looked broken and he couldn't help wondering how he could fix her.

She had a dull, blade in her hand--gripping it, so tight her hands were red--pointing at him with barely concealed …rage? He couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion, but whatever it was, it was powerful and there was a lot. _Tumultuous_, he thought, …_Hinamori's rage is tumultuous. _The word fit rather well when he thought about it (…when he thought about her).

"…W-we don't--" She croaked. It surprised him that she was the first to break through the oppressive silence, but not as much as he would have thought. _She's …very much in character,_ he was chagrin to admit. She was always the first to fill the long gaps with conversation; speaking, avidly about seemingly nothing at all, but it mattered to her at the time, so he'd listen …even if he wouldn't admit it.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" Her voice was fuller now and she spoke with, what he could only guess as, self-assurance. "You only need to give me the--"

"You can't have _both_!" Hitsugaya interjected. He suddenly looked too young for his burden. His small frame was shaking, and his eyes were hallowed; he swallowed a lump in his throat, and wondered if it was his resolve. It'd have been _sooo_ easy to give in. He could almost taste the remnants of his shattered convictions fade.

It would have been _soooo _easy.

"…You can't--"

"Hm."

She clucked her tongue in that stubborn way of hers, and he was lost again. Her eyes had turned bored and her pink tongue darted past her lips moistening them. He wondered why this was so hard, but the answer was simple: It was Hinamori. The same Hinamori who thought him stupid games, and kept him up-to-date on all the latest gossip--as if he really cared--, it was the same Hinamori that brought him watermelons in the summer and cried on his shoulder when the spider killed the butterfly.

It was so hard because he knew somewhere beneath the madness lay the fragile, and overemotional girl he swore to protect before learnt that swords were meant to kill …they didn't save. They didn't heal.

"Aizen-dono will be disappointed." She said, suddenly. There was a slight frown on her face--it was cute--almost as if she hadn't noticed she spoke out loud, too enraptured in her own thoughts.

"Aizen-_dono?_"

"Hm? Hai." She said with a distracted nod. "Aizen-dono was prepared to make you a lucrative offer. He'll be surely disappointed." She frowned and Hitsugaya had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

_Really though, Aizen-dono?_ He snorted.

"…Though I'm sure Ichimaru-san will be delightfully amused--he loves to play his _games._"

"Che, bastards…" he sighed, suddenly finding himself extremely irritated; thinking of Aizen and Ichimaru had a way of doing that to him. Just the thought of them alone was enough to make his skin crawl. "What makes them think they have anything I want? The cowards… I, I…--Uugh!" His hands flayed the entire time he spoke, punctuating his thoughts. As he reached a crescendo, his grunt of disgust, his hand flew over his head, and a maelstrom of emotions swirled caustically in his eyes.

He _hated_ the bastards!

The corners of her lips were curling, as she witnessed his uncharacteristic outburst. He was so out-of-sorts; his careless façade was crumbling before her eyes. She watched; almost transfixed, his face flushed with anger, and unexpectedly, she was assaulted by a memory she'd lost, long ago. Her eyes closed slightly and glazed, falling into a nostalgic embrace; her hands coasted the smooth skin of her cheeks, making her appearance seem fragile, and Hitsugaya watched, perplexed. When her vision cleared, she looked lost again; Hitsugaya took a hesitant step towards her and froze.

_**Was this a trap?**_** _How could he trust her?_**

In the end, he decided his voice was the only comfort he could and was willing to offer. He called out her name, in hesitant tones, hoping to reach the girl that felt so far away. Encroaching on her momentarily astray recollections, his voice cut through the miasma of conflicting emotions like a swathe of moonlight on a particularly gloomy evening, letting a little light shine in.

She inclined her head to his voice, and smiled. She was so temperamental these days--it put him off balance--he never really knew what she was going to do next, so he treaded carefully, walking on metaphoric eggshells whenever she was near. He wanted to save her, but somewhere deep down he knew he couldn't… Helplessness struck his very core as he swallowed her name. It felt thick, _viscous_, and he nearly choked.

**_How could he save her--if he couldn't even control himself?_**

_"Who are you?" _

_"Hn. How like you…" he sneered. "--To forget!" _

_"…" Her eyes narrowed, but she refused to reply, waiting for his answer with the raise of an immaculate brow._

_"…I am…" _

_She sighed at the dramatic pause. Waiting…_

_"I am--" His agitation was visible. His eyes were narrowed, almost pupil-less, and burning. "If **you** don't remember--you don't need to know." He said, turning his back to her. He knew he was being bratty, but he couldn't help it; he was …hurt. How could she not remember? _

"…No…" he repressed, yet another sigh, "the question is: _Who Are You?_" he whispered lowly to himself.


	2. The Beginning is the End is The Beginnin

_**A/N: I'd like to thank all those read the prologue--whether they reviewed or not. And to answer a few of your questions, Yes, is a AU Chapter story, and yes I'm aware it's OOC, but I promise there's a method to my madness (...I just haven't found it yet, lol.) I hope it's not so much out of character it becomes unbearable to read. Tell me what you think--Is it good or should I give up writing all together. I'm admittedly still a novice and critisim is the key to growth. So in other words, Review Please...**_

**_Disclaimer: I, in no way, own Bleach... After all, I only use Tide Color Safe when washing..._**

_**Chapter One - The Beginning is the End is The Beginning…**_

…_And the Embers never fade,_

_In my, 'City by the Lake',_

_The place where you were born;_

_Smashing Pumpkins - Tonite Reprise_

Sweat dripped from his every pore, as he shot up from the lump he called, 'a bed', like he just heard the piercing wail of sirens. The sheets fell haphazardly over his partially nude body and stuck to him due to the sweltering, midsummer night's heat. Night had fallen hours ago, and the evening sky was painted in an array midnight blues and milky whites, the stars were devoured by the large--billowing--night clouds leaving the sky in stark contrast in the late midnight hour.

Hitsugaya shifted under the oppressive, weight of the sheets, throwing them off of his person with a noble, grace. He move towards the window in measured steps, easily calculating the best course for minimal effort, to stand unmoving--after placing one hand on the windowsill--before the night.

The room was shaking, swaying from side to side, in a soothing, rocking motion that usually calmed his frayed nerves--even under the most stressing of circumstances--but now, it only lead to irritation. After all, he wasn't the type to get sick…

"Soon," he said, tracing imaginary lines on the old wood under the window. "I'll return. After all this time, I'm finally to return to the only place I've ever called home…"

He sighed, as he searched for the moon from his cabin window; it seemed ever elusive from his sight. He wondered how something that seemed _so_ _close _…could be _so_ _far_ away--constantly eluding his grasp with ease; but Hitsugaya loved a challenge, so he continued to look, knowing the best things were always hidden to the naked eye.

"…W-will you be there…?" He questioned the darkness; its answer was received in the solace of silence. "If I were to come…, no--seek, would you, …comfort me? Could you save me…?"

After a few moments of searching in vain, he turned his back to window, running a hand (that didn't shake--thank Kami-sama!) through his ivory tresses--it was a comforting gesture, he did far too often. Those who knew nothing of him would consider him vain--his hands, always running through his hair, painstakingly fixing it--and he'd let them thing that, but to him, it was a comfort, something a mother would do without thinking, but he could only comfort himself.

Quickly throwing on his outfit, he made his way of the door, pausing for a second in the doorway--his hand still on the handle--to look back at the window. There was a faint smirk on his face when he noticed a sliver of the moonlight shining effulgently behind a cover of white. He turned, righting himself swiftly, and made his way.

_If I came, could you protect me…?_

_Even from …myself?_

_Off the coast of Italy; 4:36 A.M._

_"Ya' know, it figures it'd be **here**…" He said, walking across the seashore. A sardonic expression flitted across his slender face, but with his eyes closed it was hard to determine his true feelings. The strong coastal winds were whipping a halo around his head, sending silver locks scattering like cherry blossoms in spring, while he walked. The thunderous cacophony of the night was silenced as his feet touched the first drops of water._

_"The irony …is not lost on me," His companion murmured, beside him. He precariously fixed his glasses on the crook of his nose, and smiled agreeably. His flowing white cloak danced with the wind as he stepped to his partner; their shoulders brushed. "In a place, such as this, the home of a fallen empire--a power, lay dormant, with the means to revitalize to world, and shape our very existence." he spoke with a booming voice--brimming, like an overflowing goblet, with awe--his face, lit with a fire he had never felt, seemed to shine in the late hours of the night like a beacon to those lost at sea. He was ecstatic; He was overwhelmed; and he loved it! A subtle, but in no way faint, power pressed against him--warming his body like a well-worn cloak--and he welcomed it; embracing it like a long, lost love returned. He was made for this one moment._

_"The time is upon us, Gin, let us make haste and retrieve destiny--Our Destiny--and show the world our Souls."_

_They walked out in to the sea, but they wade in the water …they stood. Stood like Higher Beings; and the fish, and other sea urchins, their lowly subjects to behold the magnanimous grace of their wonder. They walked with purpose, paying no mind to the sounds and goings of the night and sea, blazing a path none hath foregut._

"Isn't it _a_ _little_ late for you to be up, _Shui Zhen_?" The blonde woman teased, mercilessly, as soon as she noticed Hitsugaya on deck. She clung to the small frame of the white haired boy. Her arms wiggled and wrapped around his neck--a vice grip, in his opinion--and her breath, stinking from her cheap commercial beer, assaulted his space--just like her body. He sighed in annoyance and swatted at her with a sideways glance. "Or is it? Could it be Laoshi-Ren forgot your bedtime story? The scoundrel… Well, don't you worry a 'pretty lil' hair' on your head, _Mei_ will _tuck_ you in just right--with a bed time story ta' boot!" She said smiling coyly.

_Why was she always like this? Was it a birth defect or something? _He wondered, turning his head towards the _flighty-flirt_._ Maybe she was dropped on her head as a child, or ate paint chips… I'd say there's a rational explanation for this, but there's absolutely nothing rational about her. _He thought as he continued to babble. Did her mouth have diarrhea or something? He prayed to Kami-sama, and any other deity of any denomination listening that _all_ women weren't this …exasperating.

"Knock it off, _Air-Head. _I'm not in the mood--" he rasped, walking a little farther out on deck.

"Wah! Why are you so cold, Hitsu-chan?" Mei asked.

"Why are you such an air-head, Beer Breath?" he shot back, innocently. She was rubbing the hand he smacked, delicately. The boy needed to lighten up. It was like he had a glacier up his a-- "…So, what's up with you, anyways? You're never up this late; you know, we've got a big day tomorrow; so something must be bothering you…"

He debated whether telling her it was none of her business was a wise idea or not, but for civility's sake, he answered. "Couldn't sleep, is 'll, nothin' much…"

Mei Jia Yun jumped on to the topic, as soon as it fell from his mouth with all the grace of a two-ton brick falling in the middle of a busy intersection. When Mei Jia Yun got excited, not even God could protect those surrounding her. She was a force of nature, and a self-sustaining one at that!

_The Gods aren't cruel, my ass…_

_"Excited, eh? _After all the countless hours of work, we're finally here--just a few hours away from Japan! Feels great, doesn't it, Shui Zhen?"

"I thought, I told you, stop calling me that." He said, shooting his fiercest glare her way, hoping his stern stare would cow her, but unfortunately, like most things, it floated right over he head. …_Damn Blondes…_

"Why, Hitsu-chan? It fits you like a suit…"

"It's a girl's name, baka! How many boys do you know named, 'Zhen'--"?

"--Just as many as I know with _hair of snow…"_

"--Narcissistic, air-head--"

"--Ha! Cotton swab!"

"If you two have the energy to bicker," a voice said from the back of the ship. "Then you can go through your routine."

They inhaled simultaneously and bowed lowly. "Ah, Ren Laoshi, sorry we woke you!" They said almost concurrently. Shame was written across both their faces as they stared at the hard wood below them.

"Come now, children, let our practice begin…" He prompted, walking towards the center of the ship. His wrinkled pajamas cling to his slight form in the humid night. His quick eyes took in the beer bottles and looks that flitted athwart his pupil's faces and accessed the situation. Hitsugaya most likely came across the drinking girl and was teased mercilessly to the point of infraction, a conflicted ensued and thus he was woken.

_From a very good dream, at that…_

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. He was getting too old for this…

"You know what to do." He waved his hand distractedly in the air as he made his way towards his cabin, and more importantly, towards dreams that involved Hamasaki Ayumi and hot chocolate syrup…

_They stood on top of the water with the city's lights over their shoulders, peering down at the almost opaque waters, rapt, grinning silently to themselves as they looked down. The russet-manned man with glasses covering his eyes was the first to move, reaching his hands out, a gesture that could have been mistaken for longing, though in fact; it was a command. His finger was spread; taunt and his hands were almost twitching, like his face, as his called forth a power beyond imagination._

_His lips moved in intervals, over syllables, in rhythm, but the words were lost to the ears, as the Power drowned everything out._

_"You know," a voice spoke behind them, almost in a whisper. "If the Pope were to see this--men walking on water--he'd have a piss-fit…" He said in an affable tone. There was a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes, Ichimaru noticed when he turned, and his brows were lifted slightly, in humor. Though when he looked behind the glasses covering the boy's face the noticed his eyes were burning, fierce. _

_He smiled._

_"The ol' man would have to thank us--" he waited a beat--for his cue--it came in form of a cocked brow and cant head. "'im bein' that ol', it's a pleasure ta' know ya, can still piss on yer own…" He grinned._

_Ishida clucked his tongue, agreeably, at the man's humor, but tensed when he switched his sight._

_The bespectacled man's aura was mind-boggling; it battered his senses like his mind was sent through the spin cycle. He gritted his teeth, and watched his intricate motions. Suddenly realizing the depth of the shit he would be in if he allowed him to continue, Ishida willed his bow into existence and fired off a gigantic arrow without warning._

_Lazily, his head snapped towards the intruder's presence; in his glowing hand he restrained the arrow, but not without effort, Ishida thought--scraping for the remnants of his dignity._

_"You impudent fool! Have you any idea what you've just interrupted?" He rolled his fingers to change the arrows course, but held still, waiting for the fear to come. "Fools like you come far too many; when I remake the world, I'll make sure to cleanse it of impetuous swine like you!"_

_Ishida's eyes were saucers as he watched the arrow race towards him. His own arrow, he thought, slew by his own weapon? How embarrassing… He closed his eyes._

_…But the arrow never hit._


	3. Collide

A/N: I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review and more importantly giving my fic a chance. I know it's probably beyond confusing, but I've got this ...picture... in my head and right now I've just made the sketchs, but if you give me a chance I swear a paint it in vivid technicolor for all of you! There's a few things I want to mention, or rehash like theChinesewords ornames--last chapter there were some names some of you were probably wondering about like Laoshi, Shui Zhen, um...Mei Jia Yun and ...I think that should be it. Laoshi is teacher. Shui, Water; Zhen, Precious -- Shui Zhen, Precious Water; Mei and Jia are both ways to say 'Beautiful' and Yun is clouds. Hence, the comment about about Mei Jia Yun being a 'Narcasistic Air-head'.

Please direct any comments or reviews to the review pageor my email at deathtrapXI AT comcast DOT net

* * *

**_Chapter Two - Collide_**

_I, I went to hell--_

_I might as well …learn by my mistakes_

_I, at twenty-four, was insecure--_

_Do WHATEVER it takes…_

_Come on and…_

_Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up--_

_--Shut Up, Shut Up, Shut Up, Shut Up--_

_It's time …Smell the Coffee, the coffee…_

_Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up--_

_--Shut Up, Shut Up, Shut Up, Shut Up--_

_This time… Smell the Coffee, the coffee_

_The Cranberries - Wake Up And Smell the Coffee_

* * *

_**London, England--Outside of an abandoned estate, overlooking a cliff; 4:18 a.m.**_

_The rain fell with vicious, abandon coating the English shoreline with bitter, poignant tears; crashing into and eroding any, and all obstacles that stood in their path like merciless angels falling from heaven--it's intent was clear-- admittedly savage, but gruesomely beautiful. _

_Few, however, could hope to grasp the lackluster magnificence of the early morning spectacle like Urahara, Kisuke did, standing vigil under the harsh cloudburst, an aberrant semblance of contemplation casting shadows on his usual façade of carefree effervescence. He stood, momentarily staring up into sky; seemingly concentrating his focus afar, but in truth his battle was internal. He'd been silently at war with himself for the last couple of decades, though, so as tiring as it was to the blond man, it was nothing new._

_Forestalling a strong wind, he drew his hand up to the top of his head, grasping his ill-placed hat to his head with a firm vice-like grasp, as if anticipating some divine intervention of the fashion kind. He grimaced at the stray thought that not even 'The Man Upstairs' liked his lucky hat._

_"…Some people get no respect," he frowned, lightly._

_His attempt at levity was light-hearted at best; his dark moods overshadowing any form (of humor) not of the cynical kind. Any other day, he'd lament it's lost, but now was a time for action, and he felt hard-pressed, not to heed the siren's call. His steps were steadfast, but his pace quickened as he entered the forest adjacent to the decrepit estate where he stayed._

_The forest's haunted aire seemed almost palpable, lingering like a fruitless romance clinging to the heart of the estate, and it's surrounding atmosphere. He scanned the vicinity as he entered looking for the telltale markings to get him where he needed to be. Were he not so hesitant to accomplish his goal, or he not so selfish to delay it, he'd already be done, …but alas, his sojourn lasted far too long for comfort, and now it'd seemed he's debts must be paid with interest._

_**Ah, the life of a gambling man is fraught with peril and despair**, he thought to himself as he cleared the first marking._

_When he reached what seemed to be the center of the depressing forest, the rain still coating him in bitter tears, he stood before four, aged statues--one large and three small--in a scattered circle picketed with trees. He walked in to the circle, and sucked a shuttering gasp--silently thanking the heavens for crying the tears he could not. He stepped to the crumbling effigies--at one time, he'd called them …friends…--and quietly pleaded their forgiveness for the acts he'd soon commit._

_Raising his hands to the cheek of the large statue in front of him took more effort than one would expect. His thumb caressed its marble skin; amazed it didn't crack at his touch. He traced the features--memorizing every contour--with the delicate pad of his thumb. Over the lips, across the brow, rounding the ears with an artist's finesse--he wondered if it would be worth the work, if he ended up breaking._

_"I'm sorry …old friend; I need your strength--one last time…" he whispered silently into the night. His head hung low, and he prayed for conviction._

_As a dramatic bolt of lightning struck through the roaring storm, he lifted his head and screamed clear into the night. His voice brimming with a strength not fully his own, and it resonated with the surrounding blast._

_"ARISE!"_

* * *

_**Somewhere Along the Pacific Ocean, near Tokyo 11:25:34 a.m.**_

From a bird's eye view, he manipulated his young, svelte body like a marionette dancing in the sky, spinning in quick and nimble rotations alike into a figure eight. Precariously balancing--upside down--on the underside of the crow's nest, he vaulted downwards towards his opponent, standing ready on the floor. His eyes locked hers, plotting the trajectory of his descent while a lock of his flaxen hair dangled before his light, cerulean eyes.

When he saw his opponent brace herself, however, his plans were irrevocably changed; he could no longer expect one strike to complete this match, nor could he expect to come to a halt so suddenly--but then he'd realized from the start it'd be tactics, not skill, that would determine the outcome of this fight.

Like a drop of flame, he raced towards the flaxen-manned beauty hoping to kiss her oily-skin with the broadside of his fist… Only to be swatted away when he reached her. Yet, he preserved, keeping his wits as he landed softly on the solid wood railing of the boat.

"At least you're taking me seriously this time," she murmured solemnly. Her eyes were unnaturally sharp, taking notice to everything that happened around her. She'd never felt as _connected_ as she did at that very moment--looking into herself in hopes to find the strength she'd need to carry on.

"I realize, though, how completely outclassed I am …chagrin as I am to admit it," She continued, beginning run towards her smaller, white-haired opponent. "--So I'll make this quick! I've got--"

…But, before she could finish, she was shook violently to the ground by the boat's sudden jarring. She blinked in a haze of confusion, trying to gather her wits, slowly sitting back on her bottom, putting her hands behind her to steady herself.

"…Hunngh?"

"--**_Rangiku!_**" Hitsugaya cried, launching toward his fallen friend. He didn't have time to contemplate his sudden burst of emotion as large waves began buffeted the ship from every angle. Sliding to her side, he quickly scanned her body as he tried--in vein--to assess the situation.

"W-what the hell is going on? N-no storm c-could …sneak up on us _this_ suddenly," the blonde asked, wide-eyed. The expression on her face would have been comical in any other situation. The confusion was written plain as day across her features, as a cute frown marred her face in thought.

"It's no storm…Look!" he replied, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to steady them both. "The clouds…it's still clear out. The only things happening that's storm like are these obnoxiously large waves and the dry lightning. I've got no idea what's happening."

"--Aye! Thurr's un unknown mass portside, and 'It's' rising!" Large crewmen bellowed, his body was riddled with muscles and scars--he reminded Mei of the action figure her dog chewed up when she was a child. "Aye, dun't know what it is, but it's humongous; makes the ship look like fishing bait…" He finished.

A pretty-boy stood on deck, his shirt open and his wine-colored hair almost hidden behind his large checkered plum and white bandana, watching the proceedings with trembling fuchsia eyes. "My Gawd! W-what in the fuck's goin--" He fell to his knees as a large wave catapulted in to the ship, ironically enough, setting him in prayer position. His fingernails scrapped into the hardwood floor, as his voice cut through everyone near, visibly agitated.

"R-r-right here! I-I-it's coming _right_ at us…" he said, softly to himself, but the crew head him as if he'd yelled. In the silence that followed people would have sworn they could hear a pin drop. "That _shit's_ gonna crash right into us, and there's nothing we can do!"

Chaos suddenly exploded on the large vessel. Its workers scrambled like ants about to be squashed trying to get to their stations, the pilot was trying his best to strong-arm the large fishing boat into an abrupt, Nascar-like turn, and the erstwhile sparring partners attentively watched the proceedings, unsure of what exactly they were expected to do.

"Everybody prepare for CONTACT!"

The pale haired boy's eyes narrowed as he spotted the large mass for the first time. Enormous was the first word that came to mind after spotting it--frightening was the second; the large dome-shaped mass was covered in foliage painting the dark morning sky shades of green, and almost three-times the size of the large fishing boat they rode.

The most frightening thing, however, was the fact the large island seemed to moan as it moved--in a deep baritone wail that pleaded, echoed, and resonated through the bones of everyone present--it cried, a hallow wail. It was easy to translate for who happened to listened:

_…Didn't you see me…?_

It moaned.

_…Didn't you hear me?_

It'd cry…

_Didn't you see me standing there!_

It was almost a haunting melody that could lull the crowd into a false sense of security, but few who sailed the seas as long as they have were moved by its siren song--but the sheer fright of it all rendered them immobile--and one thought ran havoc through everyone's mind and they watched the mass move towards them--

We're going to crash…

* * *

_If I keep rolling around like this--I'll wind up face-first, right on the floor;_ Hinamori Momo mused; restlessly, shifting her legs repeatedly under the oppressive weight of the silken sheets decorating her western style four-poster bed. She had no idea what it was keeping her up into the early hours of the day, but she solemnly swore to make _whatever_ it was suffer grievously when she figured it out. She had preparatory classes for her admissions test at Tokyo University tomorrow; she couldn't afford losing the scant hours of sleep she'd managed to accumulate. 

_So much for making a good first impression, _she frowned. She was hoping to set a good impression on her professors tomorrow--she was a good student, probably good enough to enter college now instead of taking a year to prepare, but she was a constant daydreamer and the faculty tended to pick on her for that. She vowed to start off on the right foot this year.

She decided, when she looked at the clock that any sleep she'd hot to get as of now would most likely only make things worse. If she went to sleep now, she'd just be too tempted to sleep in; so she decided she'd get a glass of warm soy milk, and finish the book she'd started the other day. Curling up in the little niche on her windowsill, she facing the new day with her book in hand--_The Heroic Tales of Momoko, A Romance in Fugue--_and a slight smile on her sleepy-deprived face.

Sometimes it'd seem there were only two things in the world that could make a dent in her lethargic, early morning haze and live to tell the tale--Her father (…though to tell the truth, her father's barely made it a few times…) and **_anything_** written by Kyouraku Shunsui, he was a _Literary God _in her book; his 'Romantic-Adventures' series was the best thing to hit shelves since …well, ever. His literary style was poignant and poetic, but not so flowery a common person couldn't understand. He was gifted, and open minded and it really showed in his work as he spanned genres, and played-off of stigmas, creating idyllic worlds were 'love' was _loved_, and anything was possible.

…That, and the fact, that each new addition was introduced with a beautiful to his '_lovely, and most-talented editor--Nanao'_ had to be the most adorable and romantic thing _ever_.

--To say Hinamori was addicted was an understatement.

* * *

**_…Pacific Ocean..? - 12:13 P.M._**

The sky was falling and he was the only one who could see it …or at least that was how Toushirou felt as the water submerged him, pushing him down until the pressure became excruciating, to the point Hitsugaya wondered if it were possible for him to fold like origami under the battering he took. It was like slow motion; his hands reached out towards a light he could barely see, grasping torrents of water as if they were a life-line, or more aptly, a _stairway_ cause he was sure he'd die any second now.

_If I could just…_

His eyes felt heavy, and he barely had the strength to fight the crushing depths of the ocean's waves. He felt a flood of distain wash over him at irony of drowning _…of all the ways to go down;_ if he didn't the his eyes would explode under the pressure, he would have rolled them. Water was a life force, it made up ninety-eight percent of the human body; what kind of sadistic comedy would make something we're almost completely made of lethal?

_Suddenly the saying, 'God loves laughter…' makes a whole lotta sense. --I wish it didn't…_

Bleruuup-ett

He watched what would likely be his last air-bubble robbed from his body, and float towards the sun, wondering if it was truly meant to end this way. There was a traitor beneath his breast, crying out how he deserved better than this, how he deserved a chance; it was right to bring him this close to _home _…only to have him die like this--like, like a dog. That'd be too cruel.

_To be that close and not--_

He couldn't even finish the thought.

_I-I want to live…_

_I want, I want to fight …with Ran-- Mei Jia Yun_

_I NEED, no, I w--_

_I WILL see Hinamori again._

_I need to live._

_…if, if you're listening… let me, please…_

_I want to live!_

* * *

From the depths, _**He**_ heard his plea, and answered in turn. 

_So shall it be…_

* * *

_A/N: Feh. I'm sort of happy with this chapter, but I'm sure it could be better. Just so you know, yes, I am aware of the, at times, blatant OOCness, and I apologise, but like I said ealier there is a method to my madness. On that note, Rangiku... I wasn't planing on her being in the story at all, but it was like this chapter wrote itself. I'm aware she's very OOC, but I'll fix it. _

_Anyways, thanx for reading, hopefully I'll see you next chapter!_


	4. Silhouettes

_**Chapter Three (Part1)- Silhouettes**_

…_Shapes of every size,_

_Move behind the eyes--_

_Doors inside my head…_

_--Bolted from within!_

_Every drop of flame,_

_Lights a candle in…_

_--A memory of the one,_

_Who lived inside my skin!_

_And I can tell you why people go insane!_

…_I can show you how you can do the same…_

_I can tell you why it will never come--_

_I can tell you I'm a Shadow on the Sun._

Audioslave - Shadow on the Sun

"--Add another one to the list." Zheng He sighed loudly, wiping the sweat off his face with his the end of his worn shirt tail, as he stomped across the 'island's' virgin-white sand, detailing the wreckage with a critical eye.

He wasn't a large man by most standards--barely able to clear the 5'5'' mark by the skin of his teeth--but he was lean; well muscled, and hardened by the harsh lessons of the sea. His hair was beautifully chaotic; a gaggle of split ends and calyces framing a youthful face that belied his years--he was twenty-four, but could easily pass for a teenager if he needed. He would have almost been considered pretty, were it not for the perpetual scowl he wore like a well-made suit of armor, hiding his emotions behind the steel of his eyes… he would have almost been likable were it not for the same reasons.

"That makes five now, I believe…" He spoke to no one unparticular. His eyes were glazed in thought, and his lips thinned almost to the point of invisibility as the words fell from his mouth. "--Damn."

He was the '_unofficial captain' _of the merchant ship, the Mourning Tide--after having won the right to call the ship his own in a rather …_unsavory_…way--and the duty of assessing the toll of crash fell to him, whether he liked it or not, so he'd grit his teeth and persevere; hoping it'd all be worth it in the end.

After all, _he _was the one hoping for an adventure…

"…Uh, Cap-y, I think we've got ourselves a problem," hesitantly, a man with long hair and a bandana tied about his head spoke up, "--besides the whole 'Stranded on a Deserted Island that came out of Nowhere, and Moans randomly at will' thing, ya know?" he said, gesturing about him wildly as he spoke. He _definitely_ had a way with words…

Zheng He corked an eyebrow--gesturing for him to continue--not at all amused. Though, _that_ might have been because he couldn't quite recall his name.

"Yes?"

"Oh! Um… it's the mason, he-uh …well…ya know?" He gestured helplessly with his hands. "He's d-dead. Dead--dead, ya know? Like a door …handle? Uh, I never really got that…" he sighed, "Hm. …I know, as in the, _'Passed gas and Passed on' _type of death; not the, t-the," he frowned, not knowing how else to explain it. Zheng He had this glazed over, blank look on his face so he _obviously_ didn't get it, but, but… " …Um, is there …any other way to be …uh, dead?"

Another blank look.

"…Well yea, he's dead, so now we're officially stranded. Before it was just temporary, ya know, but now, it's like permanent …and stuff…" he sagely hedged on--oblivious to the onslaught of his words. "With the ship's mason dead how are we supposed to get out of here? Who's going to rebuild the ship? We're missing a lot of people, and now our mason is dead on top of that. What little team moral we've mustered for this mission has been shot to hell; it's as if God just shoved his middle finger in all of our faces …and told us to sit and spin."

"We're fucked," he finished. "Royally so…"

Zheng He took a breath, and the chewed his bottom lip as he thought. The odds were against him, and it'd do no good to thing short term, now he had to contemplate what would be best for the survival of his men and their guest. That's what the _real_ Zheng He would have done.

He ran both hands through his still damp hair, before deciding to tie it back in a tight, thick ponytail. His eyes hardened along with his resolve, as he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw shut before he spoke.

"Gather the men and our guest, but try not to speak. They need to be as unfretted as possible, and _something_ tells me you'd be a handful otherwise. Have them meet me at the remains of the ship--over there," he said pointing a bit to the east, at one half damaged ship. "We'll have a funeral for the dead and try to attend to the wounded."

The crewman nodded, simply. Suddenly his presence was so overwhelmingly powerful it was almost excruciating to be near. The bandana-ed crewman idly wondered how his 'captain' suddenly spoke with so much conviction, when only moments before he looked so lost and agitated. He didn't like the idea that someone as young as himself could be his superior, but he would follow his orders for the moment, though only because it seemed to make sense, and nothing else that day did.

"Oi, Qi-shi!" The long haired man turned around, his eyes wide and mouth agape, truly surprised by the man in front of him.

"There are other, worse ways to …be dead, but, I--" he took a breath and continued, "I promise neither you nor the rest of the crew will ever have to experience it on my watch. Some how, some way, we'll make it through." he smiled, "I give you my word."

"…A promise between men…?" Qi-shi asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Yeah." he replied, a fierce look in his eyes. "--A man's promise is never to be broken."

* * *

They sat just as they'd stood hours ago in the vast expanse of forest, in a scattered circle staring solemnly into each others eyes, trying their hardest not to tense, as if they were still statues--cold, and unmovable. 

"So it's really back, eh? We should've figured it would, but…" the black cat spoke, sitting on its haunches with a vaguely human air, it's attentive eyes plaintively scanning the room in thought. Leisurely, it brought a small fur-covered paw to its face, swiping with distain at its dark maw. "--I guess not even hope floats even in murky waters."

The feline sighed, quietly.

A boy with hair of fire and blood sat, lounging casually as he waited the rainfall from the sky--feigning disinterest. "Feh. It _was_ gone, but not _really_…" he said, threading his fingers behind his red hair. He breathed deep and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right analogy--trying his hardest to channel his inner-sage. "Like a childish game, it hid from us in plain sight," He cracked an eyelid, narrowing his oval irises on Urahara as he spoke. "--But now the counting's stopped, and it's waiting to be found..."

The _'What are YOU going to do about it?' _was left implied.

He rose, tussling with nappy locks of auburn hair as he groaned, irritated. "Ugh! This is such a bother, I could be doing much more important things with my time! Why'd ya hafta wake me, huh?"

"Jinta!" bellowed the large, muscular braided man. He grabbed the flinching boy, his iron-clenching fingers digging deeply into the younger's skin, but he spoke with scolding paternal warmth. "That's enough. Have you _forgotten_ the reason why we spent _so many _hapless years in the Forest of Abandoned Thought, hiding our faces like fiends the unknowing world! We've sacrificed, but please, let us not forget Urahara-san's gamble--he's given up just as much …if not even more than we could imagine…"

Jinta pried his arms from the larger man's grip, turning his back to everyone while he spoke. His left hand rose from his side to his heart, while the other, fisted, pressed firmly against the cool windowpane; his bitter words coalesced with the harsh pitter-patter of the English rain, sending a chill to his bones colder than a _thousand years_ stone sleep.

"Urahara's gamble? Heh. It's more like his gambit, no? He played us," He grinned sickly, looking into himself through the window's reflection. "Lest we've forgot it's his fault _Shinjiru no Unmei's _here in the first place!"

"B-b-but it's n-not his f-fault!" a cutely pigtailed girl interjected, meekly, for the first time. "N-not …not exactly at least; the Blade of Fates predates him by decades, if not centuries…" She frowned, fighting with herself to continue. It'd be too easy for her to slide back into the shadows, hiding silently away as he watched the proceedings, but she felt she owed it to Urahara--whether he knew it or not--to stand up for him…at least this once.

"He's a victim of his own blood."

They'd all made mistakes after all, even her--especially her--she was just a _stupid girl _after all…

"Ah, a-anyways, did we not swear ourselves to this one purpose? We promised to give our _all_ to watch over the _'accursed blade' _…a-as long as necessary," she continued. "D-did we not?"

"…_Ururu_…" Kisuke looked on in askance behind the shade of his misplaced fisherman hat. He was truly surprised by Ururu's actions. For her to stand up to Jinta, if only for a moment, was a momentous occasion. Even _if _it did nothing to ease his guilt, he felt thankful to her. He didn't deserve their acceptance. He couldn't dawdle _this time_…

He was a descendant of a proclaimed weapon-making clan who lived on the outskirts of …well, _everything_. His reclusive clan--of which he was thought to be the only survivor--lived in secrecy for years, and were assumed to be the makers of the accursed blade, Shinjiru no Unmei, which was said to have the power to change a persons fate, along with numerous mystical items that were meant to contain and suppress it's power. To most it didn't seem like a particularly horrific power, but to few understood …the words 'corrupt' and 'change' became synonymous.

He frowned, hiding his eyes, as he thought of his part in the whole _power play. _There were lot more things to feel guilty about than the _flawed_ blood flowed consistently though his old veins. He wondered if he had the strength to reach for his atonement, which lie dangling before his very grasp.

* * *

_He crawled, climbing out of the sea like a newborn striving to be delivered from the protective prison of its mother's womb, spewing venom and coughing water onto the Italian shore, until he was sure he was safe from the raging astral storm. Lights exploded above him, dancing in the air, and flying like fireflies over his sodden hoary-mane._

_The early morning gray of the Italian brisk air was contaminated by spiraling darkness floating ominously above. The early Italian commuters and other unnamed passerby's remained oblivious, however, to the eminent threat on the horizon; carelessly moving in a haze, drifting between wakefulness, and sleep as they made there way._

_**Closing time, **He grinned, but it looked more like a grimace--his face twisting sardonically as he thought. **Last call for alcohol, but the party's just begun…**_

_"Ah, shit, this'll be fun…" he whispered, blood coating his teeth._

* * *

Her memories sometimes seemed like pictures from one of those cameras 'professionals' constantly wore around on their necks. Like sterling gray indiscretions, the still-frame images dangled precariously in forefronts of her mind, haunting her …at times to the point of insanity. They were helpless reminders of who she really was, and her exact worth _…or lack thereof_. 

Coming in every size and shape imaginable to the capable mind, these pictures left impressions on her very soul--like footsteps in the sand--causing her heart to burn, and her eyes to water when no one was around to see.

She stood with the remains of empty beer cans and debris, strangling a guttural cry with her teeth while staring blithely into swarthy ocean abyss like she had done sporadically for hours (…or was it days?) before. Her arms were splayed behind her as she stood dangling in the dank, early evening breeze; her fingers intermittently clenching--grasping, hoping for something _real_ to help pull her out of this daze, but all she found was emptiness.

_I've never been told nothingness could be so palpable._

And yet, her depression and the scant moments of celluloid-like lucidity she forced in the presence of the crew no longer seemed contrast, but felt equally dismal to her, as she stared out blankly in to the still waters--_The same waters that had devoured him whole, _opening indiscriminately like the legs of a wanton whore and seizing him, engulfing _her_ Shui Zhen in the blink of an eye, snuffing out a life before it ever truly began.

Her denim _Daisy Duke _shorts rode high up her thighs as she kicked the aluminum cans out of her way, clearing a path towards the end of what was left of the ship's deck, placing her hands lightly on the wooden railing on both her sides. The air was lodged, lingering in her throat as she stared at the cerulean thief rippling, before her.

She stepped a little closer to the edge.

She _hated_ it for that. She could still the ripples where the water had parted, admitting him into it's cold, crucial embrace like it'd happened only moments, instead of hours, ago…

_Taking him away…_

_Taking him away._

_Taking him…_

She whispered, harshly to the waves; her immaculate fingernails chipping away as they dug deeply into the hard wood, practically turning the broken rails into shrapnel as she spoke: "Give him back. Give him back to …me… now or I swear I'll--"

She never got a chance to finish those words--as explosions turned her world to silence.

* * *

The eastern sun bled into the horizon, changing from crimson to cobalt in the blink of an eye. They cautiously searched the seemingly sentient, island for provisions; Zheng He, the captain of the wrecked merchant ship led a small group of able-bodied men up the side of a large hill in the center of the large mass they'd crashed in to. They foraged the island for edible fruits and vegetables, along with natural supplies, not knowing how long it'd take to rebuild and escape from their deserted prison, but silently, hoping they wouldn't need half as much as they'd gathered. It would hopefully be a _very,_ short stay. 

But it seemed as if misfortune looked upon them like a long lost lover finally found, following their footsteps avidly, trailing like a small child clinging to her mother's heel. During the storm and consequent crash, the _Mourning Tide _had apparently lost a fifth of her crew (and two passengers--one found dead--on top of that). Zheng He, along with the rest of his crew had held a small service on the island for the lost, and not forgotten men, but the morbid surreal-ness of the whole thing weighed heavily upon their shoulders, especially as they surreptitiously watched the surviving passenger. She was young, and inexperienced, and though she tried to deny it, the loss struck deeply into her core. She a lot more fragile than her sloth-like, nonchalance proved, and though it remained unspoken, the remaining crew vowed to protect her innocence.

"Yer 'ere that chattering, boss?" inquired the scraggly man by the name of Mzu Tsu, he frequently spoke proudly of his pure Mongol blood, saying he was a distant descendant of the 'Scourge of God' himself, Attila the Hun. He had beady, gothic eyes that were heavy with eyeliner, and a haughty, feral smirk that was often hidden behind thick, flowing locks of ebony hair. "Sounds like there's 'lest sumthin' living on this accursed island. 'Er aye was thinkin' we'd die alone…" He smirked.

Zheng He raised his hand, signaling everyone to stall, as he stood for a moment to listen to the sounds. That rat-bastard, Mzu Tsu, had acute hearing--along with vision--he was a good look out, but a little too wily for his tastes. The messy, haired brunette was always on guard around him, but couldn't summon the strength to feel bad about it.

"Yes. There is something out there, almost sounds like talk, but I've never heard such a dialect spoken before …sounds so guttural…" He paused. _There must be savages on this island--but how? It came out of nowhere…_

"Stay on guard."

When they reached the summit, a glowing alter greeted them, much to their surprise. In truth, it was really, less of an alter, and more of a roughly carved stone slab lying at the top of the hill they recently scaled. Its incandescent glow briefly struck fear in their hearts, but the lure of freedom echoed in its pulsing light. They clambered cautiously about it, trying to ascertain the most safe and more importantly productive way to go about using it.

…**_Are You Here To Play With Me?_**

**_

* * *

_**

_**A/N: First and foremost, I'd like to thank Seal-chan (and everyone elsewho's read and/or reviewed.)for your faithful reviewing. It's always a pleasure, not to mention a great motivatorgetting a review from someone who seems truly intrested in your story. Secondly, I'd like to say,I'm sort of proud of this chapter, but something still seems off. So if you read it and can figure out if something seems TOO confusing, or anything please tell me so I can fix it. I'd like to apoligize for Rangiku's characterization, I'm still trying to find her voice. After work tomorrow, I think I'll rewatch the few episodes she's in--to help, but then, her OOCness serves a purpose. And finally I'd like to promise that this WILL NOT be one of the fics were Original Characters take over and the story pratically revolves around them. I hate that, so I won't subject you to that.**_


End file.
